


Where All Is Lost (and all is found)

by HeadInTheStratosphere



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/M, I apologise for the existence of this fic, I don't know if this thing is even going to be finished
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22501963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadInTheStratosphere/pseuds/HeadInTheStratosphere
Summary: Or: Frozen 0.5My poor attempt at trying to bridge the gaps between Iduna, the Northuldran girl with a penchant for the wind spirit, and Queen Iduna, the kind and benevolent ruler of Arendelle.
Relationships: Agnarr & Iduna (Disney), Agnarr/Iduna (Disney)
Kudos: 6





	Where All Is Lost (and all is found)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> I'll be honest with you, I don't know where this fic is going. Not at all.
> 
> When I watched Frozen 2, I just needed to know what happened to Iduna in those in-between years, so this fic kinda spilled out of my noggin in little snippets of dialogue and stuff. 
> 
> I'm currently trying to sort them into some sort of order. This is my attempt to make sense out of the nonsense my brain spat out. 
> 
> So without further ado,
> 
> Enjoy!

My childhood seems like an eternity ago. 

Was I really that Northuldran girl?

My memories from that time are murky, a spinning whirlwind of events. 

I remember the sweet fragrances of spring. The mild sun on my face as I ran through the meadows just outside the forest. The feel of the lush grass, damp with morning dew, alive beneath my feet. I remember the way the dirt got between my toes. But I didn’t mind. The earth is alive in ways I could never explain.

My mother and I would gather the spring blooms and early fruits. She knew exactly where the best vegetation lay. How to find the ripest berries and the freshest nuts. We’d use our hands and dig up the damp soil around the trees, gently uprooting tubers and wild mushrooms.

“Try this Iduna,” she would smile, pressing a mushroom into my hand, “These can only be found in the early spring.”

I bit into it. The flesh was a pale yellow, its cap smooth. Underneath, lay brown flaps, like the gills of a fish, which felt soft and delicate against my fingertips. It tasted earthy and rich, reminding me of the earth it came from. We sat against the giant oak, nibbling on the mushrooms.

In the distance, I could hear it. A low rumbling, a tremor from the ground beneath me. It carried a song,

_Ah-Ahh, Ah-Ahhh_

It seemed to say, 

_I know you. You’re my friend._

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

I remember the way the sun streamed through the trees in the summer. The taste of the harvest, fresh figs or pears, right off the branches. I remember my friends, mere children themselves, as we chased each other through the forest’s undergrowth, laughing as we took care not to trample the bushes and their sweet berries. 

My sister and I would swim in the rivers that meandered through the trees, the cool water was a welcome respite from the heat and harvest as we’d playfully splash in the rippling waves. Something about the water spoke to me. It knew me. I’d swim out from the banks trying to reach its depths.

“Not too far, Iduna!” my sister would call out, from where she waded in the shallows. “The river’s too deep.”

I’d go anyway, the summer sun filtering through the water, casting shadows in the depths. I could it watching a strange shape in the deep. But I knew it meant no harm. As I’d propel myself through the water, I’d hear it, a call,

_Ah-Ahh, Ah-Ahhh_

It seemed to say, 

_Don’t worry. You are safe._

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

I remember how in Autumn, the forest became alive with a kaleidoscope of reds and yellows. The echoing of drums rang through my ears as the bonfire rose up in playful tongues casting long shadows as people danced like the leaves that waltzed from their branches. They did not know what awaited them on the ground but it did not stop those leaves from taking the leap of faith. 

“Look Iduna,” my father would say, as he would pick up leaves from the ground and bring them against the light. “Look at how each leaf is different. No two leaves are the same.”

I’d collect more leaves. Red and orange and yellow and brown. All kinds of different shapes and sizes. I carried my bundle to camp, my father behind me, carrying a pile of twigs and branches. 

He showed me how to create a campfire, how to ignite the branches and how to encourage the blaze as it enveloped the vibrant leaves. I’ve always thought fire was playful, it licked at my hand as I tossed in more leaves and made me feel warm inside. I wasn’t afraid of getting burnt. Fire was like the young reindeer, eager to meet you, always looking for food.

I felt it calling as the smoke rose up in the night, an echoing,

_Ah-Ahh, Ah-Ahhh_

It seemed to say, 

_Show yourself. I trust you._

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

But by far, I remember winter in the forest as my favourite season. It still is. Many people didn’t like the cold. Food became scarce. Firewood difficult to find. Bitter winds that crept underneath our furs making us shiver. 

But I always thought it was worth it, to creep out of our tent on those cold winter mornings, to see the way the forest seemed to glow with an ethereal sheen when the morning sun hit the freshly fallen snow. Many of my people would still be asleep, tucked away snug in their tents. 

Except for one. 

My grandfather and I would sit on these cold mornings, snuggled together, watching the sunrise. He was old, his skin as gnarled as the ancient trees around us, and he struggled to see through his milky eyes. The wind would dance around us, weaving through the trees and the icicles that dangled from there bare branches bringing the cold of winter. And yet, he never failed to meet me on those winter days.

“Winter was your grandmother’s favourite,” he’d whisper as he wrapped her scarf around my shoulders. “She loved the way winter made her feel alive.”

And even when he was no longer alive, I’d brave the cold on those cold winter mornings, wrapped in my grandmother’s scarf, to feel the winter wind to ruffle my hair and brush against my face. In the silence of the forest, on those winter mornings, I hear it again. The familiar melody, swept up by the quiet zephyrs of dawn, swirling around me, it sang.

_Ah-Ahh, Ah-Ahhh_

It seemed to say,

_I love you. You belong here._

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

The spirits of the forest. 

Earth. Water. Fire. Air.

They protected us. Provided for us in the blistering heat of the summers and the bitter cold of the winters. Bringing fresh fruits and mushrooms in the mild springs and firewood in the cool autumns.

When they spoke, we listened.

And I belonged there. These were my people. Our history spanned back to the beginning of the forest. This was the home of our ancestors. Our lives have revolved around the forest for millennia. This was my home. 

It was all I’d ever known.

Yet, that time now only exists in my memory. A hazy recollection. As if it was hidden behind a wall of fog. Almost impenetrable, but sometimes I could manage these small glimpses at the girl I once was. 

How did these happen?

But I know that even then I knew. All those years ago. 

When the spirits spoke to me I was destined for something greater than anything I could imagine. 

I just didn’t know it would take me so far into the unknown.

**Author's Note:**

> "The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."  
>  —Lao Tzu
> 
> Have a great day you awesome human being!
> 
> Pigeon's Tail Feathers


End file.
